“Yeah, it is.” I grin and cross my arms.
A snort comes from across the room, and Eve has her hand on her chest, silent laughter making her shoulders jump.
“Eve, what the fuck?” Cameron’s pinched glare is on his girl.
She stops laughing abruptly as if she’d been poked in the side. “Cameron! You can’t cuss around the baby.” She shoves him, but he only grabs her arm and pulls her into his chest.
Mason’s avoiding them, staring at a bunch of nothing around the room.
“Why you laughin’?” I throw a baby pacifier that Layla has refused to use on Jack, figuring it was expendable. It hits Eve in the back.
“Hey!” She whirls around, but Cam keeps his arms locked around her waist, her back pressed to his front. “It’s funny!”
“What’s funny?”
“Jack . . .?” Her eyes move around the room, but everyone is staring at her as if they’re waiting for the punch line.
“Axelle Rose . . . ?” Eve rolls her hand through the air, but no one fills in the blank.
“Oh my gosh, people.” She slaps her forehead. “Axelle Rose and Jack Daniels! That’s so rock n’ roll!”
Layla and I find each other’s eyes simultaneously, and we’re silent for a few beats before we both burst into hysterical laughter.
I sit down on her bed and pull her into my arms. “Our kids are the epitome of rock ‘n roll.”
She leans into me, laughing. “Let’s just hope their names aren’t prophetic.”
A crowd circles around my baby, and something tells me this is going to be a problem most of his life. With his mom’s good looks and my bad attitude, the guy’s going to get all kinds of attention, hopefully none of it from the police department.
But even if he did, it wouldn’t matter.
Because no matter what he does or what he becomes, I’ll never shut him out.
Twenty-one
Blake
It’s amazing the changes a single day can bring. How holding the fragile life of my son in my arms can bring on an entirely different perspective. It’s as if his birth has finally connected me to some kind of parental hard drive. I’m not the same man I was when I rolled out of bed this morning.
I rock back and forth in the dark hospital room while Layla’s soft breathing mixes with the tiny snores of our newborn son and lulls me into introspection. Jack in one arm, Layla’s phone in my palm, I contemplate what I’m about to do, consider the consequences rather than act on impulse. It’s not my usual MO, but it feels right.
Clarity washes over me, and I see things now that I never did before: how a father would go to any length to protect his son, even if that meant sacrificing his relationship with him. I’d never put Jack through what my father put me through, but that doesn’t mean I don’t finally understand the reasons for why he did what he did.
As frustrating as it is to admit to myself, I can understand why Trip didn’t fight for Axelle. According to Layla, he genuinely thought she’d be better off with a guy like Stew, taking the backseat in order for them to have a shot at a decent future. I’m not convinced it’s right, but I get it.
I check Layla’s phone. It’s just past midnight, but something tells me that regardless of the late hour, he’ll answer.
I press my lips to my baby’s warm cheek. “Come on, bud. We’ve got business to take care of.”
Slowly, I push up from the rocking chair, and with quiet feet, I move out of the room to avoid waking Layla. She was a champion today and has been feeding our son every two hours. The poor woman needs as much sleep as she can get.
Once in the hallway I tiptoe down the quiet corridor to a window that overlooks the city.
“This is the first and most important lesson you’ll ever learn in life, Son.” Holding up the phone, I scroll through the text messages until I find the one I need. “How to take care of the women you love the most.” I hit send and press the phone to my ear.
“Layla?” He answers on the second ring. “Are you okay?”
I grit my teeth at hearing the worry in Trip’s voice. “Not Layla, man. It’s Blake.”
“What do you want?” He’s lost the frantic tone and moved straight to asshole. “Another chance to kick my ass?”
I take a deep breath and drop my chin to study my baby’s tiny lips as they suckle in his sleep. My son. My blood. What would it have been like to not be here for him? Watch another man raise him as his own?
“Nah, man. Look, I, uh . . . I’m sorry about what happened earlier.” Kinda. “I didn’t know the whole story, but I wanted you to know that Layla told me everything.”
“Oh.” He doesn’t give me much of an indication as to what he’s thinking.
“Here’s the thing, Trip. I know you get that my girls went through a lot before moving to Vegas. Things are finally good for them, but that doesn’t mean they can shake off seventeen years of bullshit overnight.”